Chapter 58
Chapter
I tried one last time to convince Buckland to let me take the fall alone. We were standing on his doorstep, and the coach was waiting. Ajax was already stashed in his birdcage.
There was nothing left for me in London. I’d set the fossils at Henry’s back to stone, and Buckland helped me return each to their drawers and cabinets. I only cried a little.
I looked around anxiously, up and down the street. Lucy was late. But my ship was set to leave within the hour, and I couldn’t linger any longer.
I hugged Catherine and the girls. I held Elizabeth extra tightly.
“Thank you,” I choked thickly, into her ear. She looked concerned I’d lost my mind, but I just shrugged.
And then they slipped inside to give me a moment of privacy with Buckland.
“Think of your girls,” I said, blinking quickly. “They don’t deserve this. When you go to Palmanaeus House tomorrow, tell them it was me. Only me. Or blame Henry. Lord knows, he’s not around to say otherwise.”
He shook his head. His chin wobbled. “You know why that won’t work, Mary.”
“But—”
“Hush,” he said, and he took my face between his hands. “Hush, now.”
I exhaled. “What will you do next?”
“My penance.” Buckland’s chest rose and fell with a sigh. “I’m afraid we’ll have to admit that Henry Stanton may have been on the right track regarding the nature of species change. Or at least,” he muttered, “he was more correct that I.”
I chuckled, but it turned to a quiet sob. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt Buckland’s lips on my forehead, the scratch of his gray stubble.
“I would never presume I could take the place of your father,” he said hoarsely, “but I hope that you know I think of you as one of my daughters, my dear. And you will always have a home here, with us. If you want it.”
I flung myself against his chest.
“Damn you, Buckland,” I sobbed. “Now I’m crying.”
“And I love you, too, Mary.”
The coach was already rolling, horses walking at a quick clip toward the river, when I heard Lucy calling.
“Mary!”
“Stop, please!” I called to the driver as I flung open the door.
Lucy clambered up, breathing hard. She took and squeezed my hand.
“You can go on,” she called out, and the coach lurched forward. Then to me, she said, “I’m sorry I’m late. The London council received a summons from the archbishop, if you can believe it. To discuss our grievances. It’s a good thing, Mary. I think he might really listen to us.”
I smiled. “That’s great, Luce.”
Her chest rose and fell quickly. Sorrow, or maybe regret, flickered over her face.
“And Edgar…do you know…”
“The archbishop said he’s healing well,” I said gently. “But he couldn’t say what would happen next.”
Edgar’s sorcery should have earned a death sentence. But he was a viscount, with powerful allies. Lucy and I both hoped he might dodge the executioner’s blade. Whatever his crimes, he was still our Ed.
Lucy blinked quickly, then glanced down and shook her head. “I’m sorry again. That I can’t come home with you.”
It was my turn to squeeze her hand. “Hush. We both know you belong here. You have work to do, still.”
Her eyes were warm but liquid. “But are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“No,” I said honestly. London was rolling by, out the window. I was eager to see the last of it, I realized. I was eager to be home. In the salt air and the whipping wind, with the cliffs at my back. “But I will be.”
Maybe the good people of Lyme Regis had heard about a pterodactyl. Maybe they heard it was all revealed to be a hoax, concocted with some Oxford don. Maybe a few—one, maybe two, or three, or more—even noted it coincided with my absence from town. But if they knew, it didn’t change a thing.
I closed Anning’s Fossil Depot. It would only draw attention; locals might not care about the goings-on in London, but tourists hunting fossils were exactly the type who might remember my name.
Once, I would have killed for that. Now, I only wanted to be forgotten.
Buckland had quietly arranged for me to receive the fellows’ stipend, and the archbishop made provisions as well.
I rented a small house above the cliffs. One bedroom and a large fireplace. Lucy had the right idea, I decided: a clean, quiet house of your own, far from town. A place to think, and sometimes cry.
I spent a few nights curled up on the small, rickety bed, stroking Ajax’s chest, the wind battering the windows.
I knew what I had to do. I just didn’t want to do it.
I went at sunrise, when I was sure the beach would be empty. Ajax hopped behind me, curious, then went happily into my satchel while I climbed up to the cave mouth.
He ran ahead, cawing cheerfully. I wiped my tears before crawling after him.
He was waiting at the end of the tunnel. The stone of the floor was loose and churned where I’d turned it up to get out his mother’s skeleton.
He’ll be alone, I thought. My lip quivered.
I patted the spot beside me, and Ajax loped over obediently.
“You’re a good boy,” I whispered. “You’re the best pterodactyl that there ever was.” I kissed his head, and then his stupid, colorful, toothy beak, and he watched me with curious golden eyes.
“Thank you,” I said, my chest shaking now with silent sobs. “I will never forget you.”
I stretched out my hand, and Ajax pressed his head right into my palm, the way he always did when he wanted to be scratched. I closed my eyes.